


Everything

by navree



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: F/M, I'll never stop loving these two tbh, also none of this takes into account the new series mostly because I haven't watched it yet, and other factors I'll explain I pinky swear, but long story short I stand by dale and diane being the most beautiful of relationships, doesn't matter any relationship they win at it, like never not as long as I'm alive, what type of relationship you ask?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-21 10:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navree/pseuds/navree
Summary: Her name had evolved, from a greeting to a compliment to a prayer, all honey sweet and velvet soft on his lips no matter what happened. Somehow, it had come to pass that her name meant everything to him.Dale Cooper has known women before, but never have they made such an impact on his life this way. Never have they made him love this way.





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly just meant to be something random, and it's sort of turned into a chronicle of the Dale/Diane relationship evolution from Cooper's perspective, or something of the sort, but whatever I'm down with that. For questions about discrepancies between this story and the revival, please see notes at the end.  
> as always, comments (either positive or constructive) are always welcome and much appreciated!

He'd had a secretary before Diane. An unassuming, though not unpleasant blonde, who was thoroughly unremarkable. He did not stand by this impression in an attempt to be cruel; the blonde had been very good at her job while she had it. It's just that she hadn't made an impression, even less so when Diane, in all her near messianic glory, had danced into his life. She hadn't branded herself into his mind with crystal clarity the way Diane did. But Diane...When he first met Diane, not long after the blonde had decided to pursue a career in the illustrious art of balloon decorating, he had been startled. She was different than the blonde, she had dark hair and sloe eyes and fingernails that had the appearance of being dipped in blood. There were angles in her face, and bangles on her wrist, but she greeted him with a smile and a firm shake when he extended his hand out, and Dale found himself thinking that he would like her. 

He wasn't wrong in thinking that. He did come to like her, very much so. He told her early on of his idiosyncrasies, of his penchant for coffee and of how he recorded tapes as often as he could to keep every day fresh in his mind, no matter how it turned out to be. She didn't appear nonplussed by it. She looked decided plussed, fingers folded in front of her and nodding serenely as he laid out how this job might differ from her others. "I've had an odd life," was the explanation she gave when Dale voiced his surprise at her calm, a smile playing on her lips. "I'm used to the strangeness of the human race." He chuckled at that, and felt a pinprick of warmth in his chest when her smile widened. She had a lovely smile, he noticed, and in the days after found himself wondering how to make her smile some more after that. Dale knew he could make people smile, often with exasperation, mixed with a hint of fondness. He liked making people smile, and he found that he liked making Diane smile. She had a way with it, a way that made his heart flutter just the slightest bit. And that smile made him smile too, wide and radiant smiles reminiscent of younger days, when the world was less complicated and more bright, and he dreamt of a kinder world.

His tapes began changing too. Recording tapes had been a habit of his ever since he was a boy, and yet, upon realizing that his astonishing secretary would be hearing them while transcribing them, Dale began changing his tune. It was subtle at first, his voice become less detached and more personal, less of a dictation and more of a conversation. He didn't register it at first, didn't register the slow change from formal to familiar, until he passed a truly scenic lake somewhere in Wisconsin. Without thought, his tape recorder was out and in his hand, ready to hear whatever he had to say as he admired the crystal blue of the water and the peaceful quiet of the world around him. "Diane..." It startled him, her name escaping from his lips, yet Dale realized almost immediately that everything he had been saying in recent months had been addressed to Diane in their own way. "Diane, I'm at a small lake town in Wisconsin, and it's absolutely breathtaking. The water, the animals, the sky, the trees, it's truly one of the more wonderful things I've ever seen in life." A pause, and for a moment he could picture Diane next to him, that sunshine smile on her lips and her eyes soaking it all in. "I wish you could see it Diane. You would love it." When he came back from that case, she asked him if the lake was truly as beautiful as he had said. His response was to give her a postcard he had bought expressly for her, and watch that smile light her up again. 

All his tapes after that were addressed to Diane. Without fail, every single time the tape recorder turned on, it all began with one singular word. "Diane..." It slid effortlessly from his tongue into the air and into their budding relationship. She was more chatty now whenever they found each other, asking him questions about the things he said to her, becoming more and more willing to talk to him outside the parameters of her work. Dale knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they were blurring the lines between professional and personal, and that they shouldn't. But she stirred something in him, something he couldn't name, something that had been intrinsically tied to her dark hair and dark eyes and beautiful smile and the particular way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbones when she lowered her gaze. And soon his tapes were hers. He was no longer recording them for himself, he was doing so for her, for her to have a part of him. The tapes became a way to connect to her, something that the two of them shared with just them, no one else. That prick of warmth Dale had felt when he'd first held a direct conversation with her had been steadily expanding ever since, every time he said _"Diane..."_. It was a separate entity from whatever he was recording for her, a completely different story within a story. No matter the subject, her name always held a hint of fondness, and was growing more sacred by the day. Her name had evolved, from a greeting to a compliment to a prayer, all honey sweet and velvet soft on his lips no matter what happened. Somehow, it had come to pass that her name meant everything to him.

Dale said her name when he awoke in the hospital. His eyes stung, his tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his throat was scratchy, but still he managed her name, a hoarse croak that could not have been any different from the way her voice usually sounded in the air, smooth like silk and clear like water. He said it before he was even aware she was even, sleeping in an uncomfortable little chair, looking as if she hadn't moved in a while. He tried for her name again, and in an instant she was awake, not taking a moment to stretch her arms or otherwise shake sleep away like the rest of the world. In the back of his mind, he knew that Diane was unlike the rest of the world, and thus this should come as no surprise, but he was more focused on the feeling of her hand on his, squeezing, and the way her eyes were shining slightly more than usual. And then, a name. _"Dale."_ Not _Agent Cooper_ , not _Sir_ , not the _honey_  she had hesitantly begun using, at his own urging, in the recent weeks. Just a name, his name. And his heart jumped, not just at the sound of his name coming from that melodic voice, but the way she said it. Sorrowed, caught, bordering on pitying, and Dale knew that she knew, and he knew that Caroline was dead. He said nothing, but brought her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against her knuckles for one long, agonizing moment. When he pushed her fingers away, he noticed that there were spots of damp on them, and only the feeling of free hand pushing through his hair kept him from apologizing for it. 

He was more tactile with her after the hospital. Never intrusively, and always with her permission, but something had shifted. She called him Dale now, and at times she took his hand, tracing his knuckles with her thumb. He found the gesture comforting, and in times of stress, when confronted with the worst humanity had to offer, Dale would think on that simple touch, and would find himself grounded. "You keep me sane Diane," he told her one day, leaning against the wall of her office with slumped shoulders and heavy limbs. "It's extraordinary." And then somehow, God _somehow_ he had his arms wrapped around her, anchoring her to him, his faced buried in the crook of her throat with her own arms flung around his neck. "You're an extraordinary woman Diane." Her hold felt like home. 

When he first ran into Diane outside of work, he was stunned. It was the only word to describe how he felt, as if someone had knocked him over the head with a pipe and left him completely immobile. She was with someone, an older man with silver hair and laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, and what shocked Dale the most was how unrestrained she seemed. Even as their personal affection continued to cross the boundaries of their work lives, Diane always maintained a level of professionalism that was now gone. He saw, in the distance, a red dress and hair devoid of any type of professional coif, saw a wide and unbridled smile across her face. He heard, in the distance, a golden champagne fizz of a laugh, heard a carefree lilt in her voice that he had never heard before. Dale made no move to approach, chose instead to lean against a lamppost and let his lips twitch upwards at the display of sheer joy unfolding before him. It was a rare thing, a nigh nonexistent thing, to see Diane free of the constraints of the Bureau and all it entailed, and he would watch her relish in it for as long as he could. 

Albert liked to tell him that they were not normal. Be never took offense, and based on the laugh the stories elicited from her, Diane didn't take offense either. They weren't normal, Dale supposed, they were oftentimes the farthest thing from normal. He was aware, in the back of his mind, that their relationship was not one between worker and superior, not even workplace friends. At some point in time, when he noticed her smile and addressed his tapes to her and treated every aspect of her person like a holy relic, Dale had come to rely on his Diane. That was what they called her, some of the other agents. _Coop's Diane_. It had rubbed him the wrong way at first, as if there was an insinuation that he owned Diane, that anyone could own Diane. He could touch her, hold her, worship at her altar, but he could never own her. No one could. But then Dale had heard her use it, jokingly, a soft elbow in his ribs and a dancing smile tossed his way, and he realized. It wasn't about ownership, it was about partnership. _Coop's Diane_ , maybe, but also _Diane's Dale_. As Albert had so eloquently put it, that wasn't normal. And it wasn't a bad thing. Normal could not be applicable to either of them, not when their two alliterative names had become so tied together in his mind. Not only did Dale not mind the quip about straying from normal, he took it as a compliment. And based on the way her eyes shone when he made her laugh, Diane might have taken it as a compliment too.  

He erased their heavily blurred lines when he invited Diane to dinner with him. They had been distorted over time, yes, with each tender look and soft touch and fond tape and inside joke, but they had still existed. When Dale extended his invitation, he wiped them away, turned the sand white and unblemished, as if there had never been a line drawn there. He kept his offer timid, hoping and praying that it wouldn't change their friendship, the wonderful rapport they had built up over the years. And it didn't. They spent a magical evening together, in a wonderfully hazy glow, with moments of crystalline clarity darting in from time to time. "Diane, I don't know your last name." He said her name with the same mixture of fondness and admiration that he always did, the following words something like an admission of guilt. Her laugh indicated her absolution of this menial sin, yet Dale still felt a need to apologize. And so he did, a soft "I'm sorry I don't know your last name Diane," tripping past his lips, fingers brushing against her skin, thumb stroking along her cheek. Her eyes closed for a moment, her smile still soft on her face, and he felt a rushing surge of an indecipherable feeling in the place where his ribcage split in two. "You don't need to apologize for _that_." His lips impulsively went to her forehead for a still moment, and then it passed, along with the rest of the evening, in a rosy fog.

Love came to him in the early hours of the morning, when the sky was pitch dark and the stars were struggling to shine under a veneer of fog, and Dale was set to leave for a small town by the name of Twin Peaks the next morning. They were both at the office, each finishing up some last piece of work, and the realization hit him like a knife to his brain. He had come to love Diane, slowly and surely and inevitably, from the moment she had danced into his life. There had been no other possible outcome, he realized, other than for him to love Diane. It stunned him, just like she did, and then it made him smile. Loving her made him smile, wide and unchecked, and when she rounded the corner she smiled back at him. And Dale realized that he must have done something right, in this life or a past one, for God or the universe to have bestowed Diane upon him and let him love her. 

**Author's Note:**

> I got a lot of prompts before they introduced Diane in the revival, and began drafting them and working on them also before she was introduced. Additionally, I haven't had time to watch the revival due to a hectic schedule, so nothing I write that's Diane or Diane/Dale related will take into account the revival and its canon. I'm operating on headcanons I've been working on with regards to Diane for two years, and will continue to do so until I watch the revival and figure out whether I like it or not.  
> 


End file.
